I Got Shoes.
(The Saturday Evening Post, 23 September 1933)
The Lovely Thing hurried into the hotel, rising on the balls of her feet with each step, and bumped on her heels before the desk clerk with an expression of “Here I am!” All the clerks were beginning to know vaguely who she was—a passed debutante who had done much dancing in the big ballroom several years before and was now connected with the city’s principal paper.
“Good morning,” said the clerk.
“I have an appointment with”—the Lovely Thing paused, savoring the sweetness of her words—“with Miss Nell Margery.”
“Oh.” The clerk became more sprightly, but was not properly overwhelmed. “You’re Miss——” He glanced at a card. “Miss Battles?”
Haughtily, she let the question pass.
“I was to announce you anyhow.” And he added famili
